Controller
by Apocalypto Magnos
Summary: Jonathan's just your average 21st century teen...or at least, he thought he was. It turns out there's a lot more to him than he originally thought.
1. Welcome to the Jungle

Controller

Chapter 1

Welcome to the Jungle

It didn't take long for Jonathan to realize that he wasn't his Missouri bedroom anymore. Of course, the thick canopy of leaves overhead, torrential rain, and animal cries and bug calls around him certainly helped him to that realization.

Sleep forgotten, the teen surged to his feet in his now completely mud stained, waterlogged running shorts and muscle shirt. Obviously, this was not jungle attire, but he hadn't been planning on waking up in a rain forest either.

Jonathan looked around in sheer amazement, his jaw working, but no sound coming out. Any notion of this being a dream disappeared when he started shivering.

Right, figure out how the hell he had teleported to Brazil later. Find shelter now.

The tan skinned teen looked around, rubbing his arms to keep warm in the rain. Great, he was not only in the forest, but smack dab in the middle of it, and with no visible cover aside from the vast canopy hundreds of feet above.

He looked around briefly before running off. Going in a random direction was better than sitting there, after all.

He didn't know how long he ran for, not wearing his watch to bed, and thus not having it with him. He just kept running, gradually getting colder and wetter, despite the heat he generated from the aerobics and the warm air around him. There had to be a cave or something coming up somewhere...

Then he realized what was right in front of him, almost staring the boy in the face.

A cave! Thank God Almighty!

Jonathan staggered and sloshed into the cool cave, immediately collapsing just inside the mouth of it. The cave offered protection from the rain and some of the wind, but he was still freezing his ass off.

With a growl, Jonathan was immediately reminded of something else; he hadn't gotten breakfast.

He stood up again with a groan, walking to the door. The cave was pretty shallow- he could see the end of it from the entrance- so there was no possibility of finding food there. Than again, he was really not looking forward to walking back out into the rain. The only upside he could see was that there wasn't any lightning, just a constant downpour that looked like it could go on for days.

Thankfully, there was a tree nearby with what looked like fruit-bearing branches that didn't reach up into the canopy just outside the cave, almost close enough to reach from inside.

Jon managed a weak grin as he walked to the side with the fruit. He paused briefly when he noticed how the low hanging plants looked. They were like pears, but they reached down awfully low for a pear. Not only that, but they were a light orange instead of the familiar dark-ish green.

Ah, well. It was probably just some exotic tropical fruit. If nothing else, he'd grab it and look it over to see what it was.

His hand reached out, coming within an inch of the low hanging, vine-borne fruit.

The pear proved that it was not a fruit at all when it hissed, arched, flung a stubby claw at him- completely missing, being more of a warning- and shimmied up the vine and into the branches above.

What...the...bloody..._HELL_!

Okay, he was _definitely_ not in Brazil...

Immediately, he flung himself back into the cave, hunger forgotten and shivering (and not from the cold, this time).

Okay, this was _not_ Brazil, or any other country. But then...where the heck was it?

No, don't think about that yet. Survival first, figuring where the hell he was...that could come later.

First, he had to get this soggy shirt off.

Jonathan began the arduous task of removing his waterlogged shirt that clung to his body. He struggled, grunted, and struggled some more for a few minutes before succeeding and throwing it to the ground with a wet _splat_.

There, that was much better.

The teen plopped himself down against the wall of the cave, thankful for the lack of moisture from the shirt, even if he still felt a bit chilled now from even the slightest movement of air...wait...the wind was going forward, then back...forward, then back again...almost like something was bre-...

Slowly, Jonathan turned his head (knowing that he would regret doing so) to his right, staring with wide eyes.

The Hive Lord stared back.

Yep, that was the last straw. Jonathan, your average sixteen year old Joe Shmoe from the Midwest United States, 21st century, fainted. The sight of the Hive Lord, a Tyranid from about thirty-eight thousand years after his time period, was simply too much...

* * *

><p>The human immediately slackened, his head falling to the side and his body slumping against the wall at a cockeyed angle.<p>

The Hive Lord, or, more specifically, the Hive Mind, realized that it had fainted.

'It' was the only way the Mind could think of beings. Being a part of a genderless race, as well as one dedicated only to devouring worlds, it had no concept of genders beyond biological differences, and even that was limited.

The large Tyranid cocked its large head towards the human, but made no other move.

The Hive Mind was confused. It had killed so many beings, helpless or otherwise. Why was this one causing it to pause? Entire worlds had been felled, and yet this...thing...was stirring something deep within the Tyranids' mental gestalt. It was something forgotten for countless milennia...but what was it?

Then, a thought (or at least something about as close to that as a human could understand) appeared. It had no words, but could be translated to them, if a human had thought of it.

_...One...the One...Control...Manipulator...One for Whom Many have Searched...One for Whom the Mind has Searched for..._

So much time had passed since the Mind had thought of this, so long since that purpose had been first sought after, even such an unfathomable intelligence such as it, one that had no true sentience to forget anything truly. After all this time, the purpose had nearly been forgotten.

_...Grown...We have grown...Controller...We have found...Listen...Wait...Watch..._

The thought began to grow, and the Mind briefly investigated (it was beyond its ability to wonder) into why the One had fainted. The answer came from the growing thought. The One did not know, it did not know what it was capable of, and of what purpose the Tyranids were to it.

The Mind would be patient, and wait for him to learn. After all, its patience was limitless.

The Hive Lord settled on its haunches, waiting.

* * *

><p>When Jonathan came too, he was remarkably unsurprised. The cave was still there, and he was still wet, though a little less so.<p>

It took another moment for the logical conclusion of that to register in his mind. If the cave and the forest hadn't been a dream...then neither was the...oh boy...

Not even looking to his right, Jonathan frantically scooted towards the end of the cave, his eyes as wide as saucers.

The massive Tyranid merely looked at him intently, making a rumbling purr with each breath it took. Then, it began to rise.

Knowing it was the end, the boy covered his eyes, waiting for the final slash. How unlikely was this? His death would be worthy of youtube; slashed to death by a made up creature.

But nothing happened.

Slowly, Jon uncovered one eye, and was astonished by what he saw.

The Hive Lord had lowered itself almost completely to the ground. The four fearsome scythe-arms were spread underneath him, and the spike on its head was facing upward slightly, aligned with a point just above the teenager. None of its dangerous ends were facing him.

This...made absolutely no sense. Obviously, he had gone either insane or had been transported into a game universe, somehow. He had played his fair share of Warhammer 40,000. If there was one thing he knew about Tyranids, it was that they were mindless killing machines that absorbed everything in sight...yet this one was bowing to him...

Jonathan slowly rose from his balled up position, coming forward slowly and carefully. Could it be? No, no way, it couldn't...or could it? Well, might as well try it. What did he have to lose? Jon spoke for the first time since he had awakened in the forest.

"U-um...stand?"

Instantaneously, the Hive Lord retracted its scythes and stood at its full, intimidating height, its claws drawn up in a 'non-threatening' (for a Tyranid) position.

No way...no...freaking...way...

He was ecstatic. Grinning a wide, nerdy grin, he tried something else.

_Hold your right, lower claw to the side,_ he thought. The Tyranid complied without hesitation.

He had to admit, things were starting to look up...wait a minute...

Jungle planet plus Tyranids...there was only one place where...oh boy...

"Typhon Primaris," Jonathan whispered with wide eyes. The Hive Lord did nothing but retract its claw again.

Well, assuming this was somehow the Warhammer universe, going to the Imperial Guard was out of the question. If he knew the Guard at all, they'd kill him on sight, especially if he showed up with Tyranids in tow. What else could he do, though? Well, he could keep the 'nids from overrunning the planet. That'd be something.

It might be a big goal, but hey, big universe, so you'd better start big.

First thing's first, though. He needed some decent clothes.

* * *

><p>Jonathan had been understandably reluctant to leave and go back out in the rain, so he waited inside of the cave, slowly testing through trial and error what he was capable of.<p>

Eventually, as his clothes dried, he had a general idea of what he could do.

It seemed that the Hive Lord could hear his thoughts, or at least the ones that were directed toward it as orders. Other than when he told it to do something, the Tyranid seemed perfectly satisfied with merely standing there, looking at him. It was far from statue-like, shifting every once in a while and looking out into the rain, but it made no major move.

Well, he couldn't wait in this cave forever...

The teen got up with a grunt going over to where his now dry (if not a bit stiff) shirt lay, putting it on. It would provide only pitiful protection from the rain, but it was better than n shirt at all.

Steeling himself, Jonathan walked to the entrance, squinting his eyes as he waited for the inevitable cold splash of rain. How could a jungle have such freezing weather anyway?

His bare feet sank into the wet mud and grass, but no cold wash touched him. Curious, he looked up.

The tan and green behemoth of a Hive Lord hovered over him, the torrent of water dripping from its spiked carapace in rivulets that ran off on either side of it, none hitting the boy underneath.

Wow, and Jon hadn't even told it to do that.

Now then...where to go...

He knew that the Tyranids were driven by the Hive Mind. If that was the case, then obviously all of the Tyranids wanted him to lord over them, for some reason, God only knew why. Nevertheless, if one spared him, the rest would as well. So he didn't need to worry about that. The Hive Lord was a formidable guardian as well, so no need to worry about wild animals, either.

But what about the Imperial Guard?

Jonathan knew how xenophobic the Imperium was, it was one of their defining qualities that made them so popular. But that was when it was a game. If a Guardsmen saw the teen here with a Hive Lord, it would not end well at all...

Of course, upon figuring out his control over the 'nids, he had sent a mental order to halt any attacks and withdraw. But there was no way to know if they had followed the command. For all he knew, the Hive Lord was the only Tyranid that he controlled.

Man, this trek was gonna be killer on his feet...

Immediately, the massive Tyranid overhead leaned over, wrapping its sword-like arms around him. For a moment, Jonathan's eyes widened and his body tensed. Then he realized that the Tyranid was not crushing or eviscerating him...it had only picked him up!

His feet were off the ground, and thus away from the mud, standing instead on one of the Hive Lord's secondary arms. Another was wrapped around his front, keeping him steady. All the while, the rain still did not touch him.

The teen couldn't hide a reluctant yet goofy grin. The perks never ended, it seemed. Now if the 'nid was this good at reading into what he wanted...

With only a nudge of thought, the Hive Lord stepped forward with loping strides, covering a remarkably long distance with each step.

Talk about riding in style!

After about ten minutes of walking, Jonathan realized that he was directing the Hive Lord in no particular direction. He had no idea where the hell they were!

At that realization, Jon palmed his face, having to reach around the Tyranid's arm in the process. This was no good. But then, the Tyranids were probably spread out across the planet by now, maybe they knew a way.

He didn't have to think anymore. The Hive Lord immediately changed directions, loping its way to the left of the original, meandering path it had been following.

Eventually, time started to blend together for Jonathan. It was a normal reaction for him. He went into a state like that for hours at a time during the long road trips that his family would often make.

Then the Hive Lord lurched to a stop with a menacing growl, jolting the teen from his mostly-conscious state.

They had stopped in a clearing, but he did not know why...until he heard the voices.

"I'm telling you, I heard something over here!" an accented, almost British voice whispered harshly.

"And I'm telling you," a second one shot back. "Keep your voice down! We're checking it out, now be quiet! If it's 'nids, Throne knows what they'll do if they hear us coming."

The Tyranid growled again, raising its right arms (the ones not keeping Jonathan upright).

Oh no, oh no no, a fight was _not_ what he wanted.

_Stop!_ he ordered mentally.

The Hive Lord froze, and two figures exited the thick brush. Both were armed much like 21st century soldiers, though the lasrifles they carried betrayed their far more advanced origins, as did one's bionic right eye.

"There, see?" one said, gesturing forward with his rifle. "Nothing here. Satisfied?"

The other Guardsman shook his head, disbelieving. "I could've sworn I heard something..."

"Well, you didn't," the first man said dismissively. "It's understandable, really. The Tyranids coming in waves to rip our throats out, then suddenly they all stop. It scares the willies outta me, so I can hardly blame you."

Jonathan was dumbfounded as the two walked away, still conversing. Neither of them had seen a gigantic some-height-larger-than-9-foot Hive Lord!

Then he looked down to his feet...and didn't see them.

With the teen's jolt of surprise, they appeared again, as did his unlikely guardian's body.

Okay, now he was curious.

The human tried concentrating...on what, not even he knew. He just concentrated, thinking of invisibility...and his body disappeared again.

Things just got wierder and wierder.

So, first he found himself transported into a nonexistent universe. Then he had taken control of the entire Tyranid swarm (or at least the ones on this planet, as evidenced by the Guardsmen's conversation). Now he could make himself invisible?

He only wondered one thing, now: What else could he do?

* * *

><p>The Hive Mind did not feel surprise, such a thing was not something that it did. It did realize, however, that this event had not been foreseen.<p>

That the One had power was obvious, the Tyranids would never submit to a weakling. But the thought that told the Mind who the One would be never specified what form these powers would take. However, it did say that whatever was shown at the beginning did not even scratch the surface.

Absolute power and destruction had been expected, particularly from one so powerful, but unknowing of his true strength.

The Hive Lord lowered itself from the frozen pose of intimidation that it had taken. The One had bid it to freeze, and it had, knowing why the One had commanded so.

Now it could continue the directive it had originally been given; to find cover for the human it held. The One looked mutely and curiously at his hand, periodically blinking it in and out of sight, exploring the extent of his newfound power. He barely noticed as the Hive Lord began moving once again.

The rest of the swarm was not idle. They had been commanded to halt their attacks and to make no more, so they had done so. Now they hid and migrated across the planet, keeping from view at all times. Any nearby worked on the newest order they had been given, finding 'clothing' for the One.

It was a difficult task. The Hive Mind was inexperienced with such things. It knew that humans could not merely adapt to their environment as Tyranids could, but wore artificial coverings over themselves. The One had commanded that he be given clothing, but no specifications had been given...

The Mind knew that mere cloth and wool coverings would not do in these conditions. If the One commanded it, then the Mind would certainly bring them, but he had not. Of what was here on this world, the thin armor of the humans on this world would be best.

Immediately, a small group of smaller Tyranid strains began to move in on a Guardsmen outpost for the first time of the day, as all attacks had been halted a few hours earlier. But the Rippers were few, and did not seek notice or violence. Instead of jumping atop the few human guards, they bypassed them, sneaking within the Imperial Barracks.

It was a small, insignificant, undermanned outpost, and as such had little in the way of weaponry, but this was not what they were searching for. The tiny Rippers slithered stealthily through the simple rockcrete building, passing up storerooms of weapons and supplies that almost invited the Tyranids to them. Instead, they headed to a small locker, whose owner had left it carelessly unlocked. With quiet, delicate movements, the metal door was opened, revealing what was inside.

The Mind immediately saw how woefully inadequate the simple flak armor would be against any Tyranid assault. However, the One would not be fighting the Mind's members.

The Rippers latched their claws on the thin armor and gear, balling it together and lifting it as one, almost like a clump of ants raising up a morsel of food. Slowly and stealthily, they exited the incredibly vulnerable window, which provided the perfect path of escape into the thick jungle behind the base.

Keeping the armor's dull colors over their pale white, chitinous hides kept them perfectly hidden from any Guardsmen that would have noticed otherwise. The small group of Rippers escaped into the jungle with their prize, leaving an unfortunate off-duty Guardsman to awake an hour hence, only to discover that all of his gear had disappeared.

* * *

><p>The day was merely in the early afternoon, yet something niggled at the back of Jonathan's mind. He should be incredibly tired from all of this...yet he wasn't...oh well, probably the constant adrenaline.<p>

Suddenly, the Hive Lord stopped. Jonathan looked up at its face. It was gazing straight forward.

The human teenager followed its gaze, and was met by a sight that almost made him bust a gut from the absurdity of it.

A small Ripper swarm (yes, he remembered them from playing Dawn of War 2) slithered up to their much larger comrade, a clumped up uniform held above their heads in small claws.

Jonathan immediately recognized it as an Imperial Guard uniform. Well, it made sense. What else would be nearby, except military bases?

The Hive Lord bent down, lowering both claws until it was only a moderate step to the ground, which the human took.

The Rippers continued holding it, not letting it touch the mud that they themselves stood in. The rain storm had calmed to a mere drizzle, but the ground was still soaked.

He picked up part of it from them, unfolding and looking at it. Amazing! They had even gotten a uniform that fit him! Granted, that couldn't have been too hard. Jonathan was a tall kid, taller than some adults.

He quickly donned the undershirt-esque garment, which seemed a lot like Under Armour, albeit covered with what was certainly bulletproof scales. Next he slipped his arms into the heavier flak jacket, which covered his entire torso, as well as providing a collar around the back of his neck.

He looked briefly at the undergarment for the leg armor. It was almost skin-tight, and would likely be extremely uncomfortable to wear with gym shorts. Without a second thought, he stripped off the shorts, throwing them to the side before putting on the rest of the armor.

There. He now wore an (almost) full set of Imperial gear; a helmet with goggles, flak jacket and pants, some gloves, various ammo belts around his chest and waist, each also carrying other supplies, as well as a small pistol. He doubted he would need a rifle, or that he would even be able to use one.

Well, now that was taken care of...what should he do next?

He looked down at the small Rippers, all of which merely stared back at him with intent gazes. He looked back to the Hive Lord, who just gazed back, tilting its head ever so slightly.

Getting off of the planet would be a good goal, particularly since the Exterminatus fleet would arrive who-knows-when.

Jonathan frowned. He doubted that many of the Guardsmen had any idea what fate was fast approaching them...

He shook his head, looking again at the Tyranids.

"I wouldn't suppose that you have a ship," he said dryly. There was no response.

Great, he would have to think his way out of this one on his own...

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hey, ho, readers!_

_I surprised myself. The beginning of this story doesn't completely suck! To anyone wondering what the heck made me come up with this...just read the one sentence I put on my profile. That explains it all._

_Reads and reviews are welcome._


	2. Manipulator

**Controller**

**Chapter 2**

**Manipulator**

Okay, time to review the situation…

Jonathan had teleported into the middle of a forest on Typhon Primaris, gotten control of the Tyranids, discovered he could turn things invisible, and had also realized that none of that would help him if a bunch of Imperial warships jumped in and bombarded the shit out of the planet.

Good, that was the situation…now he _really_ needed a way off the dang rock.

He sat down on a wet log, thinking. Several Tyranids had shown up as he sat there, forming a circle around him and facing outward. He recognized Warriors, Raveners, and Termagants among them. Only the Hive Lord continued to look at him steadily.

Finding a large ship was out of the question, he doubted there were any within light years of Typhon, aside from the Exterminatus fleet.

The Hive Lord stirred, grabbing Jon's attention. It turned slowly, facing away and pointing a claw.

Wait…there _was_ a ship here? The Tyranid merely looked back at him, returning to its original position.

The teen stood and gestured forward.

"Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Jonathan palmed his face with a sigh. How had he forgotten about the Teleportarium? How many times had he beaten the campaign in Dawn of War 2: Retribution? Yet he still forgot about it!<p>

The blocky pyramid stood over the harsh forest and alien ruins. Apparently the uprising by the Lost and Damned had not happened yet. That was good. There was no way they could withstand a Baneblade...

...Maybe he should take that back. It could be possible.

A lot more Tyranids had met up with the teen, the Hive Lord, and the entourage that followed them. Venoms, more Warriors, Raveners, and even a couple Lictors had come. More than likely, even more were waiting near the Teleportarium. Of course, not all of the 'nids on the entire planet could meet, but that was irrelevant with the Hive Mind. Losses meant little to the Tyranids, so the losses to the Exterminatus would be inconsequential.

Here's hoping he could figure the damned thing out...No way he wanted to end up on the _Judgement of Carrion_.

Slowly, cautiously, the teen walked forward into the softly glowing doorway of the pyramidal structure. The host behind him followed, soon becoming a chorus of clawed _clicks_ against the floor.

"Cool," Jon said as he looked around. The walls were gray and boring, but conduits of slowly pulsing blue light wound their way across them.

"Now just to-" he began, interrupted by a bright flash.

* * *

><p>The blue light disappeared immediately, revealing what looked like an elaborate throne room. After a moment, seeing open space through a console before him, he realized that it wasn't a throne room at all, but rather the bridge of a warship.<p>

Turning around, a remarkable sight met his eyes. Tyranids stabbed, slashed, and shot at a desperate group of Guardsmen, who fired back with panicked expressions and autopistols. The only thing odd about it was that both sides were frozen.

Jonathan spun slowly, scanning the room with growing suspicion. His footsteps echoed, and similar sights met his eyes wherever he looked. Commissars were in mid bark, Guardsmen giving frozen yells as they stabbed with a bayonet or shot at close range with their rifles or pistols.

The teen had no idea how to work a Teleportarium, so it certainly hadn't been activated by him, nor had time been frozen by him. Both had to have been done by an outside force.

Then he saw something certainly not natural for the scene. A Space Marine was standing in the corner, his arms folded across his thick chest; not something an Astartes would do in this situation.

Then the soldier moved his head, looking at the boy.

"You aren't a Space Marine, are you?" Jonathan asked, fully expecting that.

"No," he said simply in a warbled voice, an effect produced by his helmet-borne vox. But his voice sounded oddly...familiar.

With merely a pair of strides, the not-Astartes stepped out of the shadowy corner of the bridge, revealing a blood red suit of ceramite armor. Purity seals hung from the edges of the shoulder pouldrons, and his helm glared with glowing green eyepieces.

"Then what are you?" Jon asked, frowning. "And why did you send me here?"

The Marine cocked his head slightly.

"Sending you here was not my doing," he said. "Though I did freeze time, but that was for your sake."

"Oook," Jonathan intoned, confused now. "If you didn't activate the teleporter, who did?"

"Simple," the far taller man said with a shrug. "You did, without realizing it."

The teen did not say anything to this. He was starting to go into overload. As though it was not enough to be thrown into a video game universe, he found out that he was controlling the Tyranids, and now some being that imitated a Blood Raven was telling him that he had some other type of power too, something besides turning stuff invisible.

The Marine chuckled.

"What other type of person can do these things, in this universe?" he asked, amused. Great, he could read minds?

"A psyker," Jon said automatically. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. I had an inkling of that from the very beginning."

"Ah, but you are much more...unique," the Marine continued, holding up a hand to stop the teen from continuing. "You will find that many things are open for you that you never knew. I suggest you experiment with what you can do. As I'm sure you know by now, things happen in this universe that no one expects, including to those who do not originate from it."

"Whoa, hold on a sec, here!" Jon exclaimed, seeing the Marine turn around and begin to walk away. "That's all you're gonna say? 'Experiment,' that's it? No explanation, no reason I was brought here, nothing?"

"Correct," the being stated, continuing to walk.

"Could I at least know your name?" he shouted, but it was too late. The being disappeared, though the scene remained frozen.

Oh, joy. So he knows he has power, but how much? What can he (or can't he) do? What the heck would happen if he tried something that he couldn't do.

Ok, calm down. Panicking isn't going to help. So calm down, and review the situation.

Well, for one, the bridge was still frozen. That meant one of two things: either the being was still around somehow, watching, or he had queued it to Jonathan. It seemed likely that the latter was the case, since he had left without explanation, leaving him here.

Let's see, the guy had said that Jon had power. From what he had seen, psyker powers seemed to revolve around a certain theme. So far, everything he had done demonstrated control somehow: controlling visibility, the Tyranids, and (he assumed, though it was hard to be sure) time. Were machines exempt from this? He did need a ship, after all...for what, not even he knew, at least not beyond being able to move. Staying put in this universe seemed to invite disaster. Maybe he could control the ship, and then "control" the position of the Guardsmen on board, sending them someplace other than here.

Damn, did that sound far-fetched. Then again, the fake Blood Raven guy told him to experiment. Sure, Jonathan had no reason to trust him...but he also had nothing else he could do. Merely turning invisible wouldn't help much.

The teen walked over to a console, lightly touching it with his hand. Almost immediately, he felt...something. He wasn't sure what. It seemed almost like the ship was _reaching_ to him, wanting something.

_Guidance?_

The word reverberated through Jonathan's head like a ringing gong. Had the ship said that? Could it (or would it) respond to his thoughts? He hoped it wouldn't be the way it was with the Tyranids. Mute followers were what he did _not_ need.

_We will follow, give us a command._

...Was the ship sentient?

_In a sense. We are the spirit of this body. The...enginseers within this body understand us only in a minimal sense. We have waited for long, far too long, to feel this presence. What are you?_

"I wish I knew," Jon said with a wry smile, hoping that the thing would still be able to respond.

_We would help if we could, but we only feel...instincts of you. We know some things about you, but not by our own knowledge. It is as though we were constructed to follow you._

"Helpful," the teen said sarcastically.

_We are sorry that no further help can be offered. If we discover something, we shall alert you. For now, may we know your name, that we may know who we serve?_

"Jonathan," the teen responded, blinking with surprise. "But isn't this a little sudden? I mean, I just contact you and you're dedicating yourself to follow my orders?"

_As we said before, it is instinctual. We sense something in you...We cannot explain it, only that we know that you are of great importance._

"Great, more questions," Jon said with a groan. "Do you have a name, at least?"

_We do, but it was given to us by these other humans..._

The ship seemed to pause.

_Strange, we have never been able to experience dislike for them, but now we do. They are not evil, but they possess so many flaws, it is hard to recognize that we did not notice them before...but anyway, they gave us the name Battle Barge _Luminous Ascension_. Though you may rename us, if you so wish to do so._

"Too much to think about, right now, Luminous," Jon said, letting go of the console to rub his temples, looking around as he did so. "What are you being used for, anyway? I don't exactly want to take you without notice or anything, if you're vital to defend a planet or something."

_Defend?_ the ship scoffed. _We are being sent to destroy. In less than an hour's time, our Lord Admiral will order us to jump into a place called subsector Aurelia. There, we are to eradicate all life upon the entire area._

"The Exterminatus fleet, how ironic." Had this happened earlier, he would have had a much different reaction. But all of the excitement in the last few hours were sort of numbing to Jonathan.

"Well, that settles it, I'm taking you. Now I just need to decide how to take care of the Guardsmen..."

_There is a nearby Battleship,_ the ship intoned. _It is one of the fleet's main ammunition carriers. Assuming that you have teleportation abilities, which we believe you do, you may be able to procure the supplies for us, and transport the men inside. We will not need any crew, our communication with you will provide everything necessary to replace them_.

"That sounds good," Jon answered, his lips beginning to curve into a grin. Finally things were starting to work out in a way that made any sort of sense. Then the smile froze like the bridge around him.

"If time's frozen, then how are you still able to talk?"

We do not know. The first thing that we perceived was the sudden mass of Tyranid forms aboard us. Then, the next was your mind touching ours in the midst of it, and everything was frozen. Perhaps it was your mind that allowed us to be unfrozen.

Well, that was nice to know. Ok, no more procrastinating. It had to be done sometime.

Jonathan focused his thoughts. If this was anything like the invisibility trick he had done earlier, he only needed to think about it to make it so, and not much actual concentration.

In an instant, there was a chorus of growls, clacking claws, and splattering acid. Then it all halted, and all the Tyranids looked intently at the teen. All of the Guardsmen were gone.

_The humans have been offloaded and supplies fill the holds_, the ship said, now sounding a bit urgent. _I am monitoring vox transmissions fleetwide. It will only be a matter of minutes until they realize that one of their Battle Barges has been hijacked. Considering that it will be an entire fleet against one ship, I do not see the outcome as being very positive._

Oh shit, that could be a problem.

"Crap, we gotta move!" Jonathan shouted looking around frantically for a second, then realizing that he didn't have to do anything. "How soon can you make a Warp jump?"

_Now._

The teen flew from his feet as Tyranid claws desperately scraped at the metal floor, trying to find purchase. His head smacked the floor, knocking him senseless for a few moments.

When he came to, he was greeted with the sight of a Hormagaunt sitting on his chest, staring into his eyes. Other Tyranid forms crowded around him, looking down at him.

"Alright alright, I'm fine," Jon said. The 'nids backed off, and Jon picked up the hormagaunt, tucking it under his arm as one would a small dog.

"Bit rough there, Luminous," he said, setting down the gaunt.

_Our apologies, Jonathan. It could not be helped, given the situation._

"Ah well, no real harm done," the teen responded with a shrug. "Where are we going, anyway?"

_Now checking Astronomican charts...hmm, ironic. We were forced to jump straight forward, given the time constraints and the lack of maneuvering room. Barring any major in-flight maneuvers, we will arrive in subsector Aurelia within a week and a half._

A week and a half? That seemed a bit long...maybe it's time for another experiment.

The ship's response was immediate.

_Jonathan...did you do something?_

"Yeah," he said. "Why do you ask?"

_The entire area before us, the path leading to the subsector, has become clear. I have never seen the Warp array itself in such a stream before. _

"Really? Sounds cool to me."

The ship paused again. When it continued, it's voice seemed to hold a note of apprehension in it.

_I fear that you do not understand the gravity of this situation. First, you teleported hundreds of Guardsmen and tons of equipment simultaneously. Then, you were able to clear a steady stream through hundreds of light years of the Warp, a dimension that abhors and resists order of any type. Though you did both in the span of less than two minutes, you do not show the slightest sign of fatigue. Nor did either stunt appear to require more than an offshooting thought._

Oh, yeah...that certainly put things in perspective...

"Then, that means..." Jonathan began.

_You are powerful,_ the ship said. _More powerful than any human we have yet encountered. Perhaps powerful enough to resolve some of the Imperium's greater problems that would otherwise require hundreds, even thousands or millions, to do the same._

"_I suggest you experiment..."_

The words said by the fake Marine flowed through his mind.

"_...things happen in this universe that no one expects..."_

Aw hell, why not? It's not like he could go into this any more blind.

"Luminous, I think we should continue on to the subsector. It's time I did a few more...experiments..."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hey ho, readers!_

_...Ok, I'll say it now. I realize that this story seems to be going WAY too fast, but there is a reason (though it is partially my own incompetence with story beginnings). As for those wondering as to who the random false Blood Raven is...all in good time, my friends._

_Again, I apologize for how fast the story seems to be going, but the sudden rapid emergence of Jonathan's powers, the origins of Luminous Ascension's sentience, and said teen's control of the Tyranids will be revealed in due time._

_Reads and reviews are welcome._


	3. Experiment

Controller

Chapter 3

Experiment

The great battle barge _Luminous Ascension_ rode the vast waves of the Immaterium.

Many daemons immediately knew that this was no ordinary vessel of the material universe. In the direction it pointed, for as far as their corrupted eyes could see, the unceasing storms of the Warp were calm and beckoned to it. As though in retaliation to such an indignity, the area around the tunnel of calm pulsed and thundered in defiance, but to no avail. Not only this, but a tsunami of pure energy rode behind the ship, carrying it, yet not engulfing it. The vast storm acted as a tail wind, propelling the barge forward at speeds otherwise unattainable.

Some daemons saw all of this and backed away as quickly as they could. But even as they did, something pulled on them, beckoning them towards the Imperial ship. They reacted with horror to the psychic pull, seeing it as a creature's attempt to invite them to their own doom.

Many daemons ignored such obvious signs and charged forward hungrily. Still others succumbed to the psychic beacon on board, rushing to the vessel, willing to do anything to get to their prize within the coffin of iron and steel.

The lucky ones were plastered against the battle barge's Gellar Field, splattering against it and disintegrating as their bodies were torn from the Warp and into realspace, and vice versa, simultaneously. They did not even get the chance to scream.

Others were torn aside by the rip currents surrounding the ship, generated by its sheer speed, and hurtled back into the immense Warp storm that propelled it along. They screamed as the maelstrom of energy swallowed them ravenously, tearing them apart with bolts of Chaotic lightning and currents of titanic scale.

Still more that dashed for the vessel were shunted away by the rip currents, flung out into the Formless Wastes with bone shattering force that tore them limb from limb, leaving broken bodies adrift, sure to be devoured within minutes by another passing daemon.

All this happened within the span of a minute, and had been going through such a repeating cycle for nigh on four days. Those within the protective bubble of realspace noticed none of it in the slightest...

* * *

><span><strong>-%-%-%-%-%-%-<strong>

**Aboard the **_**Luminous Ascension**_

Jonathan paced nervously across the bridge, eyed by several ever-present Tyranid strains.

Four whole days of experimenting had revealed an awful lot about what he was capable of. It also showed that the power scared the living crap out of him.

After the trial involving a clear path, he decided to make a few waves...literally...he had told the area behind the ship to nudge it forward, and it did. With the way things stood, they were not really sailing the Warp like a ship anymore, but riding it like a surfer on a massive wave.

The fact that he could do that so easily, and for four days on end without even keeping his mind on it, was a source of nervousness at least. Who knew what else he was capable of? Worse even, what if he did something that couldn't be reversed? Such had been done many times, and examples were plentiful.

The Horus Heresy, the birth of Slaanesh, the Emperor's effectual incarceration on the Golden Throne...and those were just the big ones...

"Any change, Luminous?" Jon asked absent-mindedly.

_Jonathan, _the ship responded with a touch of irritation. _If there were any abnormalities, we would have informed you. The storm has followed what you told it to, and there is no evidence of it deviating from the purpose you gave it._

"Right, sorry," the teen said, still pacing. "When do we get there?"

_Within the hour,_ the sentient battle barge answered. _But we are unable to deploy drop pods on our own, nor are you equipped to prepare or launch one, let alone ride in it. You will need to use teleportation to reach the surface of Typhon Primaris._

Jonathan nodded, continuing to pace. The plan had been worked out during the second day of the trip. An outright assault and taking out the Lost and Damned, killing Eliphas, and then pulling the Tyranids out would be perfect...if not for the fact that the Space Marines would _not_ react in any sort of positive way to Tyranid help.

So that left a solo mission, exactly the wrong thing to do when you don't know what your own powers are. Granted, having a sentient battle barge as backup certainly helped, and the Tyranids could grow their own drop pods. All the same, it was an uncomfortable notion. Not only that, but despite all of his powers, his mental capacity appeared to be the same. Everything he had done so far appeared to be autonomous, continuing until he told it to stop. Yet what would happen when he needed to do something that wasn't automatic? He had voiced that worry to Luminous more than once.

And yet neither could help but think back to the being's advice: experiment.

He had also thought about something else. In this universe, you didn't just get powers like this for no reason. Jonathan knew that he was supposed to do something with them...but what? How was he supposed to do anything?

...Alright, that's it.

"Luminous, drop us out ASAP," Jonathan said.

_I do not understand,_ the ship intoned. _Are we not going to Typhon to discover exactly what you can do?_

"Yes, yes we were," the teen responded, taking a seat at a console. "But I came up with another idea. Why don't we have the guy who was here earlier tell me what I can do?"

_There was someone else here?_

He quickly explained.

_I see,_ Luminous said quietly. _But how do you know that this 'being' will appear again?_

"Call it a gut feeling," Jon said, sitting back and folding his hands behind his head with a smug smile. "The guy seemed in a big hurry, so I doubt he'll like that I'm waffling around..."

**-%-%-%-%-%-**

A hole appeared in realspace, opening in a circular form and belching forth an immense starship. The battle barge coasted forward, not propelling itself and yet not needing to come to a complete halt in the vast space between stars.

Aboard the vessel, not five minutes passed before a not-Blood Raven appeared just in front of Jonathan. He didn't even flinch.

"What are you doing?" the fake Marine demanded bluntly, and sounding more than a little annoyed.

"Nothing," the teen said back, cocking his head to the side.

"Why?" the Marine shot back, though he still did not move a muscle. "You are supposed to be finding the full extent of your power!"

"Which would be a lot easier if I had an explanation," Jon said blandly. "So I'm not doing anything until I get one, got it?"

For a moment, the two just stared at each other. Jon wasn't sure if it was just that he thought he could fling the being back if he threatened or if all of the past events since he appeared on Typhon had numbed him. It had to be one of the two, since he would not be doing this otherwise.

Then the being did something that caught the teen off guard. He chuckled.

"I had forgotten how you could be," he said when the mild mirth subsided, no longer sounding nearly as annoyed.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. This guy knew him before? How was that possible? Maybe he had been disguised as someone he knew back in the 'normal' universe?

"Very well," the being continued with a sound of finality in his voice. "If you want an explanation..."

The teen nearly jumped out of his skin when two ceramite gauntlets clapped onto his shoulders and hoisted him into the air.

"You shall have one."

Without a even a sound or flash, both disappeared.

**-%-%-%-%-%-**

Jonathan fell to the ground with a curse. He got up, wincing and wiping the dirt from his stolen uniform.

"What the hell was that?" He demanded. "Where did you take me?"

Then he noticed that the being standing over him didn't look the same as before. He still wore armor, but instead of being blood red, it was pure, blinding white, without a single symbol of any type. The eyepieces of his helmet were a deep, pulsing blue.

"In terms of distance, nowhere," the being answered. Though the quality of his voice had changed, there was something about his tone...Jon just could not put his finger on it.

Not that he was really trying at the moment. He was trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

All around him was...well, they could best be described as clouds, though that was hardly accurate. The "clouds" were formed from pure energy, and glowed in variations of bruise purple and blood red. Floating diamonds of ground spotted the area. They were massive, flying mountains, if the sheets of green and other colors were flora. Then again, he was in the Warp, for Christ's sake! They could be giant blocks of green rock!

Something else hit him, a very good question that he wanted to know the answer to.

"I'm not dead," he said, wide eyed and awestruck, looking back to the whitewashed figure. "Why?"

"The answer is certainly not a simple one," the armored one said with a shrug. "And explaining it with speech would take far too long."

The teen cracked an eyebrow.

"Then how are you g-"

He was cut off when the fake Marine put his armored palm to the boy's forehead. For a moment he felt...something that could not be described. After that, a strange sense of understanding, of truth, and of purpose. He felt something loosen in his mind...then the being retracted his hand.

Jonathan merely stood for a moment, blinking and shaking his head before looking back at the being.

"I...understand...I think..." he stated uncertainly.

The being shrugged. "I do not expect you do fully understand at this moment, that will come with time. For now, you only need to know a part of your purpose."

"To replace you?" Jon asked. His neck was getting stiff from looking up for so long, but he ignored it.

"Hardly," the being responded with a light snort. "My purpose is far removed from yours in every sense except your introduction to the task I am setting you to do. Now that the ability to comprehend your task is hardwired into your brain, I can now answer your questions."

It didn't take long for Jon to think of one.

"About hard wiring that comprehension, who were those three-"

"They are you," the being cut off, baffling Jonathan for a moment, until it was explained further.

"Until the due time comes, you cannot do this alone," the being said with a tone of severity. "You are powerful, and do not think otherwise, but not invincible. They will aid you when you cannot do something alone. Already, one of them is nearing his destination within the Warp, and the others are not too far from their's. You will need to begin the trek to yours soon."

That answered his next question. In the back of Jonathan's mind, something was nudging him, making an arrow in his mind's eye. Towards what, he knew somewhere in his mind, but then he didn't know at the same time. It was getting confusing.

Apparently anticipating the next question, the being continued.

"You are a judge."

_...What?_

The sentiment no doubt showed on the teen's face.

"Surely, as one so familiar with this world, even while living in yours, you know a few of the legends," the being said, seeming to be surprised at Jon's confusion. "If you do not do what you are supposed to do, the balance will tip towards Chaos. You know this to be the case."

"You think I knew that _I_ was supposed to save everything!" Jon exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. "I thought that was the Emperor's job!"

"What, the man sitting half-dead on the Golden Throne?" the being asked, taken aback. "His power is great, but not enough to accomplish all of this while on his deathbed."

"In case you haven't noticed, daemons aren't the most receptive to anything that isn't also daemonic," the teen said through clenched teeth.

"Receptive is not what you want, anyway. You want fear. And in any case, they will do half of the work for you."

Now Jon was even _more _confused_._

"Still confused, I see..." the being said, shaking his head and raising his sword. "Then I say it's time we speed this up."

Then everything flashed bright white.

**-%-%-%-%-%**

Within the forever burning, eternally frozen, chaotic realm of the Warp, a structure churned through the dimension of energy, twisting in patterns that could render an eyewitness insane merely from glancing towards it.

Pathways appeared for microseconds before turning into drooling, daemonic maws. Doors opened, revealing peaceful, serene savannas, only to close and open again to reveal rivers of molten rock, allowing the burning stream to flow into the maze. Yet through its pathways walked birdlike daemons and greater daemons, tending to the great Maze of Tzeentch, and guarding against those who would threaten it. At the great gate stood a Lord of Change, seeming insignificant in size when compared to the massive doors behind him, which stretched for miles in every direction and twisted into knots hundreds of times over.

The birdlike creature kept its eyes trained on a figure approaching on the golden path, the only thing within the domain of the Changer of Ways that remained mundane. He appeared to be human, but his entire body was encased in armor, yet not the armor of the False Emperor's armies. It was far too thin to belong to a Space Marine.

The man's armor was decorated with ancient symbols off every kind, and it curved in beautiful, smooth patterns that nearly spoke of the followers of Tzeentch, but the daemon remained on his guard. By nature, all things of Tzeentch were unpredictable. He saw no immediate danger through his future sight...and that unnerved him. All things had a potential threat or a potential for gain, and both possibilities always registered for Lords of Change. Yet this creature...it was as though it did not even exist.

As the figure came closer, more details of his form became visible. His armor was, for the most part, jet black, with golden patterns here and there. A long, tattered cloak billowed behind him, attaching at his shoulders and neck. His helm had a glowing blue, cross-shaped visor, but it appeared to have no neck joint, instead blending smoothly into his shoulder and chest armor. The top of his helmet glowed with the light of an unnatural fire, which burned dark blue. On either side of him floated small machines, their only notable feature being the picters at their centers, which gazed around as the figure walked, no doubt linking what they saw directly to him.

The figure came to a stop before the Sentinel. Both merely gazed at each other for a moment, or at least the daemon did. It was hard to tell what the man was looking at.

The man slowly extended an armored, clawed hand to the hilt of a sword at his waist, barely visible past the man's cape. The daemon remained unmoving, though its mind was ill at ease. Then the strange creature spoke.

"I shall say this nicely only once," he said abruptly, his voice callous and condescending. "Step aside."

**-%-%-%-%-%**

_A/N: Hey ho, readers!_

_Here is the (surprisingly very anticipated ^^; didn't think this story would get popular at all...) next chapter of Controller. I hope you enjoyed it!_

_But allow me to say something. Please be aware that fanfiction, being something I do only for fun, that I write is not always as highly fleshed out as the far better professional writers on this site (though they also do fanfics for fun), and as such, you may notice the story moving a bit quickly, etc, etc. Don't worry though, I will continue to put thought into what I write and how I write it, but please do not expect an epic like "The God of Death" (a very good Warhammer 40k fanfiction, by the way, I highly recommend it). You can, however, expect a thrill ride. I guarantee that this story will have more twists and turns in it than the Maze of Tzeentch, and an out of this world base for the story. If you think you know what's going on, you'll very quickly be proven wrong in the next few chapters. ;)_

_Until then..._

_As always, Reads and Reviews are welcome._

_P.S.- Luminous, the Hive Mind, and Jonathan are far from the only main characters here. The new guys will start piling up quickly, as will the _real _conflict; a challenge even for the Controller of the Warp and his three unknown allies. Eventually, you Dawn of War 2 fans might even see a familiar face or two._

_P.S.S.- I apologize for the % signs instead of dividers. The site's formatting farted out on me._


	4. The Empty Prophecy

Controller

Chapter 4

The Empty Prophecy

The Lord of Change had a duty; he was the gatekeeper of Tzeentch's maze. As such, he was subject to Tzeentch's wrath, should anything get out of hand for no reason. He didn't destroy all who came to the gates. Frankly, so long as he sensed not even the slightest hint of a threat, he typically let them inside. Thus far, few have made it through the maze. The few that did were individuals that Tzeentch wanted to see, for whatever purpose they had in his grand schemes.

This man, however, registered a much higher threat for him. Never had someone been able to block his future sight. Even now, his mind's eye saw a future of just standing at the gate..._alone_, yet this armored man clearly existed and had no intention of leaving. Was it the will of Tzeentch that the Lord of Change's time had come? Was this the moment of his death? Had Tzeentch altered the visions of the future?

There was no way to answer those questions, so the daemon proceeded as he thought he should.

With a mere flex of his daemonic mind, the air imploded on itself, squeezing down to the size of a pea anything inside...but the figure was no longer there!

"How depressingly stupid."

That was the last thing the daemon heard before the world went black.

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

A lone armored figure looked over the prone, birdlike body of a Lord of Change. The five small, deep, smoking wounds in its back matched the man's clawed hand, which dripped with black daemon blood, quickly boiling away from the strange, arcane power channeling through the claws.

"You can't say I didn't warn you," he said to the dead body. Then he turned to the Impossible Gate, the entrance to the Maze of Tzeentch.

The powerful man raised his sword, pointing it at the golden doors. Immediately, the gate's many knots began to unwind. The gold, silver, platinum, and diamond of which it was made began to resemble a more mundane door.

Without a sound, the gate ceased its shifting and opened, showing the way into the maze.

"Interesting," the man said calmly, looking at a structure capable of driving men mad by just a glance at it. The two machines on his left and right panned back and forth, their picters zooming in and out, giving the man a better view.

Not that he needed it. His psychic sense worked perfectly well. He would be at nary a disadvantage if he had no eyes at all.

The man took a deep, relaxed breath, the sound warped strangely by his helmet, producing a sound unlike even a Space Marine's voice.

"Now the fun begins," he said, the smile in his voice nearly palpable.

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

Mortals assumed that most daemons, as creatures of the Immaterium, had no genders. Ironic, that such was only true of Slaaneshi daemons; often mistakenly thought to be beings of carnal pleasure, rather than horrific anti-souls of sadism.

In truth, a Lord of Change's gender only differed physically because it was rather impractical for the Great Serpent to design them neutrally. Such would take more time from his scheming than could be allowed.

The crane-necked, ruffled, vulture Lords ruled the outer domain of the Impossible Fortress, their unquenchable thirst for violence and plotting made them the perfect couriers of Tzeentch's will.

But then there was the Priestess Lords; the few (truly) female daemons that existed within the Warp. The Priestess Lords were masters of the Impossible Fortress. They were its caretakers, its custodians. It was they who supervised the wild and naturally distracted Horrors as they tended to the Infinite Library of Tzeentch, and they who stood over the vast arcane couldrons, muttering spells, curses, and enchantments as they weaved the powerful Warp into potions and powers unknown to any mortal. Their vast, many colored feathers were clean and glistened with a golden color. Their eagle-like heads and sharp eyes watched for those unwelcome in the House of Tzeentch, and their staffs held orbs of cataclysmic power, ready to be unleashed on the unwelcome traveler or worthless Horror.

Vane the Bearer was one such daemon Priestess. She stood guard at the gates of the Impossible Fortress.

Yet her attention was focused on a single figure within the outer fringes of the Maze. A man, his form barely visible between his movements, navigated the fast structure with ease. He entered ripples in the fabric of time, emerging whole and unchanged on the other end. He anticipated every trap, followed the ever-changing path with perfection, and eluded every Lord of Change that traveled the halls of the maze. It was as though he could _see into the very future_!

Vane's smooth beak curved into a grin. The Master would want to see this one. Perhaps his arrival was a part of the Great Serpent's plans? Undoubtedly he was part of the Scheme. Nothing happened unless Tzeentch planned it.

For uncounted hours, the daemon observed the man, her curiosity officially piqued. She had no doubts that this was Tzeentch's will, but could not help being curious how it fit into the Master's plans. With a slightly irritated sigh, she supposed that she would find out, perhaps in the next thousand years if she was lucky.

At last he came to the final obstacle. Three paths that twisted themselves into unending knots. At some points they became so narrow that only atoms could pass, before widening into honeycomb tunnels with treacherous, crumbling footing.

Curious about how he planned to navigate this last obstacle, Vane peeked into her visions of the future...and immediately froze.

In her future...she saw nothing...nothing at _all_! It was black, empty...there was nothing...Surely it couldn't be, but yet it had to be! Was it her time? Was it her time to die?

For the first time in her eons-long life, the Priestess felt fear.

"Step aside," a smoothly accented, unnervingly calm voice commanded.

Nearly jumping out of her skin, feathers, and wings, Vane flew backwards a pace or two and held her staff outwards, towards the figure that had appeared so suddenly in front of her.

Impossible! It was the _very same_ man that she had seen only a moment before in the maze! How could he have navigated the obstacle so easily?

"Quite simple, really," the figure said, absentmindedly picking at one of his clawed fingers. "I teleported. It's a bit hard to believe that no one else thought of it, actually."

The daemon blinked several times in confusion. How could he read her mind? She did not feel a presence in her head, and her mental armor had increased a hundredfold (far beyond what a mortal could hope for) from being startled.

She should destroy him, blot him from the Warp!

_No_, a voice within her said. _He is a part of His plan. You know this!_

_But how can you know?_ another voice said. _Your visions have stopped. You can see nothing._

The black ichor running through the Priestess' veins grew cold, and a chill crept over her. There was only one reason Tzeentch would stop sending visions of the future...

"Actually, there are two," the being interrupted, beginning to step closer. Vane did not move back, but did not fire a blast from her staff either. She realized how crippled she was without her future sight. She did not know what to do.

"First," he continued. "Is that Tzeentch has decided that now is the hour of your death."

He continued to creep closer. Soon, Vane could no longer keep her staff pointed at him.

"Second...is because..._I don't want you to have visions of the future_."

His voice changed at the last sentence. His words rang painfully in her avian ears. It seemed familiar...and terrifying.

"It can't be..."

That was all she could say as her eyes widened with horrified recognition. _She had heard that voice before_!

The picters at the center of the machines on either side of the man began to glow a fearsome red. The cross on his helm matched them. The flame atop the helmet began to crackle and roar higher, burning a bright, blinding white.

"It is," the new voice said. Each syllable echoed with terrible power, attracting the attention of those who tended the Maze of Tzeentch. But they did not investigate the source, for they to recognized the voice. The crooked, avian forms tumbled to their knees, crying out.

The staff dropped to the ground even as the man returned to his former appearance, the threatening _presence_ that came from him fading as quickly as it had come.

A claw latched onto Vane's chest armor, pulling her from her knees. She suddenly felt very small.

"Now then," the being continued in an almost cheerful manner. "Take me to your leader."

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-

The gates were just short of a mile high. They were made of all kinds of heavy metals, from gold and silver to a lining of pure lead. Yet they flew open with such force that a Space Marine could apply to a block of wood.

From his his gilded throne, merely a few hundred yards from the gate, the Great Serpent stood, a palpable wave of indignation exuding from him that drove several nearby Horrors mad, splitting them into madly babbling Blue Horrors.

Then a form slid to his feet. It was a Priestess Lord, unhurt but unconscious. Tzeentch frankly did not care for her health, but the fact that she had been subdued, and that many of his other Lords of Change must have been either subdued or avoided without notice was certainly worth noting.

Another figure entered, walking in under his own power. He patted dust and debris from his armor and jet black cape. The two automatons on either side of him shook themselves violently, clouds of dust coming off of them.

For a moment, the two stared at each other. Then a rumble was emitted from Tzeentch's chest. It quickly grew in volume, becoming a roar of laughter. The two simply dressed Priestess Lords on either side of him looked startled.

It was the first time they had ever heard the Master laugh.

"**You are amusing mortal,"** the Serpent said in a voice dripping with condescension, looking down to the Priestess at his feet. **"I will give you that much. More than that, you are evidently powerful as well."**

As he sat back on his throne, the Chaos God clapped his clawed hands once. Immediately, five pink Horrors scuttled before him, and a Lord of Change flew down from the skyscraper-like bookshelves of the Infinite Library. The Horrors unfolded the vast book they carried on their backs, and the Lord of Change, wearing a monacle and holding a quill pen in his hand, waited for Tzeentch to continue.

"**This is indeed a momentous day,"** the god boomed, the vulture daemon in front of him dutifully recording every word. **"A mortal, below even the least of daemonkind, has come into My Library of his own will!"**

"**This feat amuses Me greatly,"** he continued with a chuckle, continuing to put an emphasis on every mention of himself. **"You have put Me in a good humor, mortal. Thus, I shall grant you a boon."**

Tzeentch indicated to his left, towards an old, decrepit, withered, and two-headed Lord of Change.

"**Ask My oracle a question, any question! He will answer you. But beware, only one head speaks the true answer, the other speaks lies that shall lead you to your doom. It is for you to figure out which head tells the truth, and which head spouts the lies."**

For a moment, the being merely looked at Tzeentch. For his part, the god merely put his hands together. Surely, the mortal's small mind was churning, searching for a question to ask.

"I have not come to ask a question," the being said smoothly and calmly. "I have come...to get a book."

Tzeentch's amused demeanor disappeared at light speed. His mighty fists pounded the arms of his throne as he leaped to his feet, his wings extending to their full width.

"**You **_**dare**_** enter **_**My**_** Library and seek **_**My**_** books!"** the Chaos God howled in rage. **"You should have taken My offer, fool. Kill him!"**

The area for hundreds of feet around the man became suffused with roaring Warp flames, charring, destroying, and corrupting everything they touched.

Tzeentch did not see them, however. Though he looked into the flames, he was seething with anger at what he sensed at his sides. Both Priestess Lords, the Lord of Change, and the pink Horrors all lay dead in pools of their own blood, messily run through with a sword and sliced in half vertically.

The god whirled. His cursed, arcane blade struck another sword; one held by the strange being.

"**Die, mortal!"**

"I am far beyond mortal."

Though Tzeentch towered above the man, he could not overpower him. Both combatants held their blades with only a single hand, as multicolored spheres of chaotic energy coalesced in their unused hands.

"**Just who do you think you are, wretch!"** the Serpent roared.

"That's simple," the man said calmly. "I am Lord Moor."

The god's blade began to shake.

"**No,"** the Serpent said, his voice quivering. His face held an expression unreadable to any man, but could be translated as a rough mix of fury, fear, and above all...denial.

"**NO!"**

Tzeentch began to bring the massive ball of energy he held forward, intending to smash the object of his anger – and his fear – into oblivion. Yet before he could strike it, Lord Moor shot the much smaller sphere he held.

It may have been smaller, but it was far from weak. A blast rocked the Infinite Library, knocking continent-sized bookcases to the ground with seismic crashes. Horrors scattered left and right. Some were crushed by towers of scrolls and books as they sat weeping over centuries of organizing undone before their eyes. Others were trampled underfoot by panicked daemons attempting to flee. Still others were crushed even as they fled, unable to escape in time.

The smoke cleared from the epicenter slowly. Within was Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, flat upon his back. Battered into submission, but not beaten, he stared mutely at the creature on his chest. Lord Moor simply stood there, pointing his sword towards the god's neck. He held a book in his right hand.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked, waving the book slightly. Tzeentch's eyes widened as he recognized it, but he did nothing. The Serpent did indeed recognize the book. It was without question the most valuable of his collection. Yet, he did not really know what it was. That mere fact had driven him to study it relentlessly. He had attempted for eons to unlock its secrets.

"The Empty Prophecy," Moor stated. The book hovered in the air and opened. Page after page began to turn, revealing empty chapters; non-existent words. Yet the power that emanated from the book was easily felt.

"**What use is it to you?"** Tzeentch demanded. Despite the situation, one with which he was all to familiar, he knew that Moor would not harm him in any permanent way. All that he hurt so far was the god's pride. **"It is called the **_**Empty**_** Prophecy for a reason."**

"Ah, but is it really empty?" Lord Moor admonished in an irritatingly condescending manner. Yet lo and behold, as the book flipped to the front pages, High Gothic runes were slowly burning themselves into the page, glowing a bright gold.

Almost as a reflex, the Serpent reached out to the book, only to be stopped by the blade pressing against his neck.

"You shouldn't be worried, though," Moor continued, stepping off of the Chaos god's chest. Now that the fear had faded, despite the visions that haunted him, seething fury began to surface, anger and hatred born of his bruised pride. Oh, how he so wanted to crush his adversary like a _bug_!

"I've hurt nothing on you...well, perhaps your pride..."

With a final, maddening chuckle, Lord Moor disappeared. With him, so did Tzeentch's most prized possession.

Slowly, not out of pain but out of despondence, the god crept back onto his throne, pinching the bridge of his beak. He paid no heed to the broken, flaming ruins of the Library around him. The Serpent paid the same amount of attention to the madly cleaning, weeping, angry, babbling Horrors and their vulture-headed overlords.

"That is it, then," he said as a whisper. "The _Day_ has come. _He_ is here."

"_Fret not, my child."_

Immediately, the Great Deceiver stood, his eyes widened. For the second time, something surprising, completely unseen by his visions of the future, had occurred.

This time, however, it was both much more shocking...and much more welcome.

"_Deceiver, child of my heart, have peace. You have not read the Prophecy...but _I_ have."_

Tzeentch remained still, waiting. Then, something came to him, put directly into his mind. It was a single phrase, but a far from insignificant one. A grin came to his beak. The last vestiges of fear, such an alien emotion, left him. The Great Deceiver was back to his old self.

_...And the Chains of Judecca shall be broken..._

In his sudden turn of emotions, the Serpent failed to notice that a Priestess Lord, the one flung to his feet when Lord Moor entered...was no longer there...

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%

"FIGHT ME!"

The Fortress of Khorne was awash in blood and conflict, as he willed it. A neverending tide of Bloodletters skirmished below, seeking to outdo one another with their acts of brutality and cruelty.

"WRETCHED DAEMONS, FACE ME!"

A lone man stood outside the circle of blood and murder. His armor was like a Khornate Marine's, but decorated with a cross on his chestplate. Instead of gory trophies, purity symbols adorned his shoulder pauldrons. A chainsword of diamond and adamantium was gripped in his left hand, its spirit begging for release and the sweet taste of daemonflesh, while a diamond-shaped shield was held in his right gauntlet, a holy cross gleaming at its front. His black armor armor was ridged, almost like it was decorated with bones, but the blood red ridges were instead formed by verse upon verse of holy, sanctified runes.

"DENIZENS OF THE WARP, FILTHY MAGGOTS, WARP-SPAWN, I DEMAND THAT YOU FIGHT ME!"

But the man was not heeded. The Bloodletters were just too engrossed in their bloody sport to notice a lone Space Marine. Then, the man's helm lifted as an idea came to him...

"DEATH TO THE BLOOD GOD! GLORY TO THE GOD-EMPEROR OF MANKIND!"

_That_ certainly got their attention. The daemons halted in mid-cut, mid-hack, and mid-slash, and glared daggers at the source of such a violent heresy against their god. For a moment, their violence-addled minds registered only shock, which inevitably turned to rage unlike any other.

The daemons uttered screams of bloody murder, abandoning their endless battle amongst themselves as they ran to tear apart the lone Space Marine.

The man merely laughed. His vox-enhanced voice echoing across the Formless Wastes.

"COME THEN, DAEMONS!" he bellowed as he revved his holy chainsword. The weapon churned with bloody glee, sensing that its meal of flesh and blood was coming near. "COME TO ME, AND MEET YOUR DEATH!"

With a swipe, a Bloodletter's head left its shoulders.

"Fight me!" he yelled again, somewhat quieter in the middle of the struggle. "Test your strength against the Messenger of Pain, the Angel of Woe. Test yourselves, and die at the hands of Dante!"

Even as he was buried in daemonic bodies, his chainsword was heard above the din of bloodcurdling war yells, even as they turned to screams of horror and pain. The voice of Dante was still heard.

"Death to the Blood God!"

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%

_A/N: Hey ho, readers!_

_Another chapter, you say? So soon, you say?_

_I know, Dante and Lord Moor seem like Stu characters right now, don't they? Just remember, as I said before, this isn't the REAL conflict. This is the Controller's allies catching the Chaos gods with their pants down, beating the crap out of their pride (mostly), without too much actual damage, and doing something that will prove most valuable later on in the story._

_So, let's recap what happened so far:_

_Lord Moor bursts into Tzeentch's Library, steals a powerful, but rather useless at the same time, book called the Empty Prophecy, which has started writing itself. And another voice spoke to Tzeentch, saying a passage from the Prophecy (...And the Chains of Judecca shall be broken). He leaves...and so does a Priestess Lord..._

_How does this fit in? You'll have to stay tuned and find out. You'll learn a little more next chapter, as Dante beats, pummels, hacks, and slashes his way into Khorne's Fortress. ;)_

_I'll give you a hint. A very familiar DoW2 character, one who is dead, will pop up next chapter (at the very end)._

_Until my next post: Peace!_

_(P.S. Don't expect next chapter to come out so soon. I just got lucky with this one. School is gonna start spinning up a crapstorm of work, come next week.)_


	5. Traitor

Controller

Chapter 5

Traitor

Dante stood in a pool of blood.

The Space Marine was calm, despite the gore all across his armor and strewn for yards around his feet. He had slain Bloodletters for the better part of an hour, then spending another hour hacking his way through the war torn Fortress of Khorne.

Now he stood in the Blood god's doorway, panting as rivers of corrupted ichor dripped from his armor, adding to the mess on the floor. His formerly red armor was now midnight black from the muck.

A bloodletter locked in immortal combat with his counterpart noticed the relatively calm guest and was immediately driven into a frenzy, decapitating his opponent and charging the Space Marine. Dante shoved his dripping chainsword into the daemon's gut, ripping open its stomach with a shriek emitted by both the weapon and its victim. Organs, ichor, and various viscera splurged from the fatal wound, covering the red that had just begun to show itself again on the Space Marine's armor.

With a grunt, Dante removed a pulsing spleen-like organ from his faceplate and continued to trudge through the flame-bedecked hallway.

Time and time again, Bloodletters would charge at him, attempting to kill him in the cruelest ways their minds could imagine. Time and time again, Dante would far outdo whatever violent fantasy they held twice over, leaving a very dead daemon in his wake.

The gate was just short of a mile in height. Every inch was covered in bronze icons of glorious battles and ravaged battlescapes. The skulls of every race adorned it's accursed rim, and a power of dark origin radiated from it like a miasma, capable of reducing even the fiercest mortal man to gibbering insanity.

Whether Dante was insane or not was…debatable. Nonetheless, the door had no unusual effect on him. Like everything else, it did only one thing to him.

It really, _really_ pissed him off.

A gore soaked boot kicked the door, and it swung open slowly and ponderously. The doors gave a grating roar of protest, as though decrying such an entrance from a mortal. As their golden jaws widened, the sounds of battle reached Dante's ears.

The Throne Room was far larger than that of any mortal king. The Blood god's chamber was stretched for an all but infinite distance. Guns roared, flames cackled, and war cries were exuded from raw, corrupted throats.

Above it all, Khorne sat upon his throne of skulls. He gazed around with a baleful countenance, his blazing eyes demanding that more blood be spilled.

Those eyes settled on the new arrival, and were instantly filled with apoplectic fury. It was the fury above all anger, above rational hatred, above the mortal plane of emotion, perhaps beyond emotion itself.

Something flickered in the god's eye. It was barely noticeable, and certainly none of the blood-crazed daemons or anger-smitten semi-mortal noticed it. Even Khorne was only partially aware of the thought at the back of his own head.

A small part of him was disturbed that he saw his anger mirrored in the soul of a mortal.

It only lasted a moment. Then the thought disappeared and bloodlust took its place. Khorne ran forward on huge, muscled legs the size of tanks, his footfalls crushing the minor daemons unlucky enough to be in his way. The others that impeded him were swept aside in bloody arcs by a burning blade of bronze and daemonic hatred. His great, cavernous maw gave the roar of an angry god. His great sword, easily the thickness of a Space Marine's body, rose for a single, punishing, and fatal blow.

Dante charged as well, but his chainsword was not raised. His eyes were not focused on Khorne himself, but rather the objects dangling from the god's neck on chains like some demented necklace.

_That _was his prize…

The sword came down unbelievably fast. It was a blow that could cleave planets. As it carved a deep gash in the daemonic stone on the floor, its dread reverberations sent shockwaves through the Warp and beyond, causing a hive world's million latent psykers to collapse as their brains liquefied.

But it had not struck its intended target.

A light tug, barely noticeable. The snap of a chain. The _clomp _of ceramite meeting stone.

The mortal stood on the ground once again, just to the left of where Khorne's blade struck. The god's eyes narrowed to slits as he saw the object clasped in its hands. His acute senses noted the almost imperceptibly lighter weight around his neck. The strenuous tether held around his rage, always keeping it barely within an arm's reach, threatened to snap. The mortal mocked him by bringing up his pitiful chainblade and hopelessly small shield as though to fight.

Then he was gone.

Khorne howled. His vicious cry drew the attention of all to the King of the Skull Throne. The god roared his indignance into the unholy skies of the Warp, screaming the anger of one who was wronged. No one…_no one_ stole from the Blood god!

"_Calm thy fury."_

The voice was quiet. It did not force or coerce. It was a sound of the mind that the god would typically pay no mind to. But the voice held an air of absolute authority. It all but _dared _Khorne to defy it and suffer the consequences. The god halted his tirade with a look of alien wonder beginning to appear on his face.

"_Let him have his prize."_

The voice sounded smug now, as though it was all a part of some grand plan. Khorne frowned at this. Was this the machinations of that coward, the Changer of Ways?

"_By his actions, and those of his allies, your wish shall finally be granted."_

He couldn't help it. A smile formed on his daemonic, bloodied lips. Thoughts of glorious fire and war traveled through his mind.

"_The galaxy…will…burn…"_

* * *

><p>"DAMN YOU, SORCERER! I WOULD'VE HAD HIM! HE WAS MINE!"<p>

Lord Moor looked at his unlikely companion mildly. The Space Marine trembled with unbridled rage, desperately wishing to smash his Brother Aspect to a pulp, though he knew it could not be done.

"You, defeat a god of Chaos?" the other Aspect scoffed. "You and I both know that there are only two beings capable of accomplishing that feat, and we are not either of them."

That doused the angry Marine's fury somewhat, though a just-below-boiling heat remained in his blood. He glared at the Sorcerer of Order before raising the chain in his hand, staring at the orb of many colors tied to it.

"This bastard better be worth it," he growled to no one in particular.

Lord Moor stifled a sigh, the two automatons at his side shaking themselves wearily. Didn't that cretin understand? There was a way that this needed to be done. The very universe hinged upon it!

Then again, though, he didn't really expect the worse half of himself to understand. Moor was the Aspect gifted with intelligence, after all. Dante was merely anger. Such stupidity was to be expected. Besides…the man had his uses…

With an angry jerk, Dante turned his baleful countenance to the presence under Moor's foot.

"I hope you have a _very _good reason for bringing that _thing_ here," he snapped, jabbing a finger at the recipient of his ire. "I'm in a bad mood, and a throat to snap is just what I need."

Moor's drones looked down to regard the Priestess Lord, bound by unbreakable chains, examining her trapped form with mild interest.

"You know exactly why she is required," he admonished dryly. "It would be very…_inconvenient _for me to find another. So you'll need to find another vent for your frustration."

The chain began to crinkle and bend from the force Dante exerted on it, and his angry helm gave the sorcerer a look that could kill lesser men.

"Fine," he said haltingly, scathingly, with the single word dripping with malice and acid. He gave one last glare (which the other Aspect ignored) and looked out over the endless storms of the Formless Wastes.

"Now where the hell is Virgil?"

* * *

><p><em>Is this really necessary?<em>

A magnificent figure in golden armor walked with purpose through the edge of the Formless Wastes, approaching a savannah of psychedelic colors. An ornate sword glinted in one hand, a psycannon in the other.

_Yes, since apparently you have a thicker skull than I thought you would have._

His helm sneered at all around it with tear-shaped, white eyepieces. His countenance beamed to mortal-kind, while daemons felt their resolve flee to the hills and their courage dissolved from a mere glance upon it.

_Can you blame me? I get tossed into another universe, get a bunch of Tyranids dumped in my lap with a talking Battle Barge, and not a week into it, I get tossed into the Warp and basically told I'm supposed to be the new Emperor. I have a right to be confused!_

A light rumbled appeared on the horizon. A stampede of horrifically beatific creatures frolicked in a barely controlled chaos on spider's limbs, their claws clicking and mandibles singing a hauntingly beautiful melody.

_The Emperor? How did you get that out of my explanation? The Emperor still sits on the Golden Throne. You are _not _him!_

Viewing the coming creatures with mild curiosity, the being continued to stride nonetheless, strips of cloth flapping in the light breeze that the meadow emitted, carrying intoxicating scents and wondrous whispers with it. The being stepped into the grass, unaffected.

_Hard to tell from what you told me…So…what are we doing again?_

The creatures noticed the being. Their corrupted maws uttered songs of excitement at the arrival of a new "playmate." They approached him with scuttling steps.

_I already…ugh, by the Throne…Just do and say what I tell you!_

The multitude of psychedelic, crablike daemons formed a writhing circle of chitin around the not-mortal, their mandibles clicking to one another in unrestrained glee. Their gold armored guest gave them a level glare from his baleful helm.

_What about that whole "my purpose is not yours" talk? And what about the Tyranids? How the hell to they connect to daemons and judges and whatnot?_

The circle began to tighten.

_One moment. Take care of these..._things _first._

The gleaming sword gave a wicked glow as burning ichor dripped from it. Around the once again relaxed being were strewn the broken bodies of daemon beasts, their delicate, corrupted forms hewn asunder by punishing swipes. The sword was sheathed, and the being strode forward again. On the outside, he seemed rather bored. Inside was another story.

_Hell, I'll never get tired of that. Anyway...you were saying?_

* * *

><p>The Garden was angry.<p>

This was a place of disease, not of cleanliness. It was a place of holy pestilence, not of disgusting purity. It was the sacred grounds of the great Plague Father, not the stomping ground of a hated angel.

For it was indeed an angel that walked the fungal, rotting, fetid woods. He was not an Angel of Death, an Adeptus Astartes. Nor was he an Angel of War, an Eldar.

He was an Angel of Light. His armor shined a bright white, brighter than the brightest star. Wings of metal and light waved from his back, concealing the weapons of war within them. His armor, thin as a gossamer, showed the bulging muscle of the Angel's light form. His sloped, conical helm was smooth as the Eldar's, but slanted backwards and not upward. He appeared weaponless and helpless at first glance, but one could sense the aura of power around him.

The Garden recoiled at his touch. Its entangling roots could find no purchase upon him. No diseased, rotting pods could penetrate his armor with their mutagenic toxins. At the mere touch to him, the Garden began to fester and boil and burn away. The fetid forest uttered a low, mourning, keening cry that remained unheard. The Garden had found one that, Nurgle forbid, it could not bless!

In anger, it lashed out at him. A waterlogged tree nearly uprooted itself as thick, weeping branches swung out, their sores crying tears of soiled sap. With a wet slap, the limbs struck their target...and were immediately immolated by hungry flames white in color. The tree writhed and slapped itself in an attempt to douse the cleansing fire, but to no avail. It withered, burned, and died a final death, reduced to a inconspicuous pile of ash.

The Angel paid no heed, merely walking on into the Garden of Nurgle. His goal lay further in...

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hey ho, readers!_

_I decided that this arc was taking too long. So instead of introducing you to one new character after finishing another Jonathan-ally's story, I'm introducing two (technically, Jon's new, 'cuz of how he looks now). For those of you wondering just what Luminous and the Hive Mind have to do with any of this, no worries, that will be dealt with in the next arc. The current plan is for next chapter to be a bit of a doozy as well, in order to make up for how short this one is._

_Anywho...time to work on Twisted Metal and To the City of Woe..._

_Reads and Reviews are welcome._


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